


Agape

by wwo_ze_i



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Demisexual!Thanatos, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, POV Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Spoilers!, Than is Confused, Than is actually a Big Softie, no beta we die like zagreus, the Chthonic Gods are all Natural Cold Badasses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wwo_ze_i/pseuds/wwo_ze_i
Summary: ‘Devotion’ — The House of Hades,seen through Thanatos’ eyes.… I should have left my emotions behind long ago —Death is impartial. Death does not take sides. Death can’t have favourites.And yet …I can feel it so clearly, this strange glow inside of me, born of all his smiles, all the times he came crying to me — this glow that carries me back to him, every time — and it hurts, trying not to reach out to him.… And he doesn’t even want me here. …
Relationships: Megaera & Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 67





	1. of Beginnings & Endings

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger Warning:** Lots of talking about **Death** & **Grief,** mentions of **Plague** & some **Bloodshed.** If these are difficult subjects for you, please proceed with caution.

**The Fates had decreed that Hades would never have an heir —** and yet, the Queen was pregnant.

She made me uneasy — I dreaded her and her rounded belly that should not be — but Death could not let himself be afraid of a mere half-mortal, so I stepped forward with a straight back when Mother Nyx prompted me. Next to me floated my twin, who could barely stay awake long enough to say ‘Hi!’. Persephone’s complexion was brilliant and filled with rosy warmth. So unlike everything that I knew.

She even had a smile for me, like I was something precious — not something to be afraid of.

— These are my twin sons, Thanatos and Hypnos.

I sketched a small bow, feeling a little awkward under her scrutiny. Hypnos yawned. I pinched him and he cried out ‘I’m awake, I’m awake!’ — he was making us both look bad.

Thankfully, Persephone laughed brightly at our antics, proclaimed us cute. I did not think of myself a ‘cute’, but knew better than to correct the Queen. I knew how to behave — unlike a certain sleepyhead.

— They are truly adorable, Lady Nyx.

Were we?

I clutched Mort to my chest, reassured by its familiarity, as the more time I spent in Persephone’s presence, the more I was filled with a feeling of _doom._

I knew it then, as certainly as I knew myself: _the baby would not live._

I said nothing. It was easier — safer — to only talk when prompted.

I was familiar with childbirth — it was a remarkably dangerous process for the mother, and sometimes the babe itself. Humans still managed to reproduce at an amazing pace, which only meant more work for me, as everything that lived was bound to die, eventually.

I had reaped many an infant’s soul. Even at what, for a god, was a very young age. As the Incarnation of Death, doing my job came to me as naturally as blinking.

However, that did not mean it was always easy.

I did not feel sorry for the babies — after all, they never had a chance to feel what it was like to be alive, could not miss it — and their young souls would simply be reborn in an healthier body, to start afresh. No, the worst part was the helpless wails of mothers who were left behind, cursing me until my head felt full with their cries.

Couldn’t they understand that I had no choice? Their kids would have died anyway, I simply made their passing easier. Shouldn’t they be grateful for me?

— The mortals do not know much about us, my dear son, said Mother Nyx when I came back with tears in my eyes, holding Mort for support.

I was ashamed at myself, at my weakness, but I couldn’t hide anything from her cool, watchful gaze.

— They simply do not have the knowledge to understand, she said. Know that, by performing your Fate appointed duty, you are doing the right thing, regardless of what anybody else might say.

This was as comforting as anyone might expect from Night herself.

I believed her, of course I did. But it did not make the changes in the Underworld any easier for me.

When Lord Hades descended to rule the Underworld — later followed by his queen, Persephone — he brought light, and colours, with him.

They built a vast house to live in, which had fireplaces, a kitchen, even a garden of sorts — all kinds of things from the Surface that seemed useless to me. The rooms were well lighted by a multitude of candles, the light from which reflected into many brightly jewelled decorations strewn about — which, again, had no use. The halls were warmed by the carefully tended fireplaces. There was even a lounge were one could have a drink or a meal, though nobody here required nourishment.

The human shades did seem to appreciate all this, though.

I began to understand that these things were meant for _pleasure,_ not unlike how I carried my little mouse doll — for its own sake.

My family and I got our own rooms, in the new palace. We had inhabited the Underworld for eons, but the change in rule happened smoothly, nonetheless. Mother Nyx seemed content to hand over much of her responsibilities to the new Lord from Olympus. Even the vitality he brought with him could not stop Hypnos from falling asleep anywhere, anytime.

Once I got used to the extra brightness, even I had to admit it was very beautiful, and pleasant in its own way.

Persephone spent most of her time in her garden, even after her bourgeoning belly made working the earth difficult. The nourishing rays of Helios could never reach all the way down here, but still the plants thrived under her careful care. She brought so much life to the House — it creeped my out, a little.

Atropos could not let this go on for long.

I tried to avoid her as much I could. The bigger her belly grew, the more I drowned myself in work — which, thankfully, took me far away from the House.

I could not explain it, not even to myself, but I could not bear to see this baby die. Whatever happened, I would not be here to witness it.

However, there is a gap between an incarnation and the actual thing, and contrary to popular belief, death occurred whether I was physically here, or not.

When I came back, after a particularly long stretch, the House was colder, gloomier. The Shades milling about barely dared to whisper. The garden dried out.

The baby had been still-born. The Queen, bereft and depressed, had fled back to the Surface.

The only place that had grown in light was Asphodel, the fields of which had mysteriously been flooded by the Phlegethon.

It was not like before, however. There was a suffocating kind of heaviness in the air. A kind of emptiness, and I could feel it, even though I hadn’t been here to see the family picture fall apart. Why did it matter to me?

I felt responsible. I wanted to do something.

I _needed_ to do something.

Somehow, I found myself on the Moirae’s doorstep, hesitating. My sisters lived in a small cottage next to the gilded cave where they worked, at the edge of the World, and separate from it. They liked to keep to themselves. They would not take kindly to someone come begging.

I was surprised to see the door open, when I had not made a sound.

Lachesis was the one who greeted me. She looked almost as surprised as I was, which, in retrospect, seemed strange, for one of the Fates.

Clotho, however, walked by presently with a tea tray in hand.

— Come, brother Thanatos, have tea with us.

She led me outside to a small round table, which had been set with four chairs — so she had expected my arrival, then? — in the middle of a small, but very rich, garden. I was all so … human. But since the Fates spent so much time planning out the lives of humans, maybe it made sense that they would adopt some of their habits?

I felt at a loss, all over again.

— Just some project of Clotho’s, don’t pay it any mind, said Atropos in her weedy voice.

— Some of us, said Lachesis (she took a sip of her tea), do appreciate beautiful things.

I held my cup of tea between my hands, feeling the warmth of it seep under my skin. There were butterflies floating amidst the flowers, and chirping birds in the trees. The sky was hanging in the moment between day and night, the light rather gentle, the orange and pink clouds vibrant. It was not unpleasant, to be honest, although a far cry from the Underworld.

I suppose that meant I was one of those who were able to appreciate ‘beautiful things.’

I had not brought Mort with me, this time. I had a difficult request to make.

But before I could find the courage to share my thoughts, Atropos cut straight to the point:

— I know why you’re here, Thanatos. The answer is ‘no’. His thread has already been cut, there is no coming back once it is done.

I gripped the teacup tighter. I had not taken a sip yet, but it was already cooling, probably because my hands were so cold.

— But the baby — he wasn’t a mortal, was he? Why did he have to die?

— He should never have been born. They knew — Hades and Persephone — they knew about the prophecy, yet they chose to go against it — against our _law_ — and made a child. And so the child had to die.

The Moirae’s law was absolute. Nobody was above it, not even Zeus on his throne — not even their own kin.

I looked to Clotho, she who oversaw beginnings, and who liked gardening, just like Persephone. She sipped her tea in silence, looking at her chrysanthemums. Then:

— I only make the thread, brother. I pick the texture and the colour. This was not my decision to make.

And Atropos refused to give a reason. It was all decided a long time ago. It was already done. Who was I to question her?

It was not even a matter of age. She knew more about the world than I probably ever would. She, Clotho and Lachesis worked in harmony. I was but an outsider.

Still, in some way, Atropos was responsible for giving my existence purpose.

She was also responsible for all the voices of the dying and the grieving that plagued me. She was responsible for this strange feeling in my chest.

— You owe me.

I was surprised at my own daring.

— _Khh,_ do I? she scoffed.

She looked at me like I was just an ignorant child. And maybe she was right.

The truth was, things had very much been the same since my conception, and I never had much occasion to learn — until Persephone and her baby changed everything.

Now there was this strange emotion brewing in my chest. What was it? Anger? Desperation?

Sadness?

I was confused. Why did it matter so much to me, the life of one child?

The Fates never shared their secrets with anyone. Why did I think they would be more partial to me?

Atropos looked older than anybody else in our family — ‘worn’, is the word, I think. Like she had seen so much more than the rest of us.

— Mortal lives are so fragile, she said now, her intelligent gaze softening. You try to save any of them — before long, you’re going to get crushed by the weight of their deaths. You should leave your emotions behind, and only look ahead. Life always balances itself.

Clotho nodded at that. She and Atropos balanced each-other. One could not be without the other. And Lachesis was the one who brought it all together, made the picture whole.

I had to believe Atropos knew what she was doing. After all, I was but a vessel through which her will was made.

I had to remember my place, and stop questioning her actions.

I had to let go. I was not responsible for any of this. I had taken the weight of Persephone’s baby on myself, but there was really nothing I could do about it.

It was easier to just feel nothing at all. These puerile emotions would only drag me down.

Atropos got up, suddenly:

— Come with me.

I said my goodbyes to Clotho and Lachesis and left my chair, careful to float a few centimetres above the grass — Clotho would certainly not appreciate me killing her grass.

Atropos bade me follow her to the cave. Inside was a massive tapestry that somehow seemed to stretch on into eternity, even beyond what should be physically possible. The entire History of the World. A carefully cultivated chaos. A balanced cacophony of colours, shapes and textures. None of the patterns made any sense to me — there was too much information to process at once — but I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away.

It was, quite simply, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

— All the threads are important, do you see? Even those that seem too short, or those that seem ugly on their own, when put into the whole, they help balance the big picture. They create beauty, and harmony. Do you understand?

I thought I did, and so I nodded solemnly.

— Wait a moment.

I looked over my shoulder to see her walk towards the opposite wall, where laid multitudes of chests and boxes full of spun thread and other weaving tools. When she came back to my side, after having rummaged some, I was looking at the mesmerizing tapestry again.

Without warning, she grabbed my hand and put something cold and solid in it. Unused to being touched, I stayed rigid with shock. She just looked at me meaningfully.

I looked down into my hand.

It was a small, metallic pin, shaped like a butterfly, violet and gilded in silver and gold, with eyes on its wings. A really pretty thing.

I was aware of the symbolism, of course. To many mortals, butterflies symbolized the soul, untethered from its body, and were sometimes received as messages from the world beyond death. They were also symbolic of my station, the purpose of my existence. A messenger of death.

— Take it, and remember our discussion.

She looked … sad? But I’d never been good at reading facial expressions. What did I know, really?

Not much, as it turned out. And I was starting to get resigned to the fact that it would stay this way.

✶

**I started working again with careful detachment,** the butterfly pinned to my chiton.

_‘Know that, by performing your Fate appointed duty, you are doing the right thing …’_

_‘You should leave your emotions behind, and only look ahead.’_

It wasn’t long, however, before the world I knew was shaken again.

I came back to the House, one day or night, to find Mother holding a baby. A particularly _lively_ baby. A little boy, I knew.

It was _him!_

_But how?_

— Oh, Thanatos! Come here. Meet your new little brother, Zagreus.

— Mother! Is that Per—

She cut me off quickly:

— This child is, by all intent and purpose, my son, and your brother. That is all you are allowed to share, with _anyone._ Ever. Are we understood?

Her voice was stern, the echo of power behind it almost threatening. This was a matter of grave importance.

_What is going on?_

— Yes, Mother. We are.

_But what Atropos said—_

Then she put the baby in my arms, and I was shocked by his warmth and weight. He had pale ashen skin and tufts of thick black hair. His wide eyes — one flashing red with a black sclera, the other the vibrant green of life — looked up at me as if in wonder. His little feet glowed bright orange like coals in a fire. I could see bits of Persephone in his green eye, his rosy cheeks. He was so _warm._ How anyone could believe that he was a son of Nyx, I did not know.

I felt a sort of glow inside of me. ‘How?’ was all I dared to ask, in a whisper, as if I might shatter this impossible moment.

— Oh, my child, do not ask anymore of me, for I am not allowed to share.

Her face was gentle, like she could sense my plight.

Of course, I would honour her request. However confused and uneasy I felt.

Out of curiosity, I touched one of the glowing feet with a gentle finger. It was very hot, right on this side of a burn, but it didn’t hurt. My touch seemed to tickle him and he let out one of his little baby giggles, then he grabbed a strand of my long hair and _pulled,_ with surprising strength for such a fragile looking thing. Surprised, I felt a smile tug at my lips. Mother frowned slightly, and took the baby back. My body felt very cold suddenly.

Had I done something wrong?

— He is the Prince, she said. You will treat him with deference, and protect him, always.

Her usual cold, distant look was back.

— Of course, Mother.

As it was, it didn’t take long before Zagreus killed any attempts anyone might have made at ‘deference’.

The Prince grew quickly, as gods do. Before long, he was running around loudly, playing pranks on servants and ‘accidentally’ — or so he claimed — burning important parchments with his flaming feet. Hypnos was no help, of course, just as inclined to mischief. Zagreus even managed to convince the Fury Megaera to play along, and pulled the Shade Achilles out of his gloomy self. Even Mother was made to smile at his antics, eventually. Zagreus could charm anybody — except his own father.

Lord Hades’ more lenient mood did not return with his child’s miraculous rebirth. Instead, it got even worse.

He never raised a hand on his son — I don’t know what I would have done if he did — but the harsh words got to him, nonetheless. Yet, Zagreus faced his existence with a courageous, boisterous smile, and only cried in secret.

I knew, from the beginning, that he was different — and not just because of his strange beginnings. Zagreus was so emotional, and _affectionate_ — when his father had one of his angry outbursts, he would find me and come crying on my shoulder. And I would pet his hair awkwardly, worried that I was unable to provide the comfort he was looking for. I remembered Persephone and her sunny disposition and thought of how we Chthonic beings tended to be cold and distant. I wanted to be enough for him — and, somehow, he seemed content in my company.

— Your body is so cold, he told me once, but you’re actually a very nice guy, y’know? And your eyes are so warm. I bet that’s what the real sun feels like …

It made no sense. My eyes could kill with a careless gaze. My whole being was made to kill.

— I think … he said, shyly. I think you’re my best friend, here.

‘Best friend’ — I thought that honour would be reserved for Cerberus, who was so much more cuddly (a quality the prince obviously valued greatly) than any of us.

It made no sense, and yet, I thought, it made me happy.

If his mother had made me want to run the other way, Zagreus had the opposite effect. He drew me in.

I could not explain it. I could only accept it.

For him, I made myself smaller, less intimidating. I learned to breathe, so I would feel more ‘normal’ to him, less alien.

In return, he taught me how to smile, how to hug, how to laugh.

I became attuned with his presence, his particular brilliance, and I only felt truly at ease when I could sense his flame near.

And I never let him see the other side of my nature.

✶

**The first time Zagreus died,** we’d been climbing statues in Tartarus. Or he was climbing, really. I already knew how to Shift instinctively, had been doing it for ages. No matter how much he tried, he could only manage short bursts forward that left sparks and singed marks behind. ‘Dash’ was a more appropriate name for it. It was barely enough to phase through small obstacles, and more fragile objects, like urns, would shatter when he ran through them, to the ever growing annoyance of the Shades whose job it was to maintain the Underworld. I stopped counting the amount of times he smashed his nose dashing face first into a wall, somehow thinking that _this time_ he would make it through.

I made a game of Shifting and floating all over the place and challenging him to reach me. It frustrated him that I could move around so easily, and I thought it was funny. Despite the pouting, the ever-bored prince Zagreus was competitive to a fault.

Before meeting him, the idea of ‘playing’ had never even occurred to me. He had that kind of effect on people, almost magical.

The smile he made when he finally managed to reach me was like a precious treasure.

He fascinated me, in his way.

This time, I was perched on a giant statue’s head, watching him frown as he tried to figure out the best way to reach me.

He managed to climb halfway. Then his foot dislodged a loose rock and he slipped to his death, cracking his skull on paving below.

In hindsight, it wasn’t much of a big deal. Zagreus is immortal, like the other Chthonic gods. The death had been swift, and, according to him, the shock of coming back choking on the bloody waters of the Styx had been worse than the actual pain of dying. Zagreus had never been afraid of death.

I was the one who suffered from it.

I had seen it. The life leaving my friend’s eyes. The content of his head spilt like a bird’s egg dropped from the nest. His soul cocooned in his cooling body, still tied to it by a single fire-red thread. It looked so fragile, like it could snap at any time, without warning.

Cutting the thread of life for mortals was easy — mortals lived short, brutal, mostly senseless lives. But what if Zagreus’ thread were to snap? What would happen to him? My whole purpose of existence was to cut such threads. What if I ruined him by accident?

It had been so easy for him to die.

I never shared these thoughts with him, however.

Reckless and fearless as he was, he would go on to die many more times, in so many different ways. Each one affected me more than I could admit to anyone.

But this once, I took him gently into my cold arms, and gave him back to the river.


	2. the House of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Than gets a haircut & Zag makes a mess (as usual).

**Prince Zagreus managed to get himself permanently banned from the Administrative Chamber in record time,** within what felt like mere days from starting work there. I couldn’t say that I was surprised.

Lord Hades’ barely contained shouts of expletives were matched only by his son’s own anger.

— Blood and darkness, I **HATE** him! _Damn him!_

He paced angrily in his room, burning tracks faster than the floor could repair itself, while I sat on his unkept bed and silently waited for his rage to blow over.

I was on a rare break, and as usual had sought him out, but he did not seem to care about anything other than his ranting. I couldn’t sympathize, as I had never been berated by my parent for the whole court to hear.

— He keeps saying I’m an incompetent fool, but he doesn’t even _bother_ to explain _anything!_ How the Hell does he expect me to _learn_ anything? He just keeps dumping more and more dumb tasks on me! _He’s_ the real blasted _idiot_ here!

I carefully abstained from voicing an opinion. Telling Hypnos that he was silly and ought to take things more seriously — that was one thing. But Zagreus was a barely contained blaze, already. No need to incense him further.

But then, he turned to me and pleaded:

— _Please,_ Than, tell me you’re on my side.

— …

I looked at his bright, glowing feet, knowing nothing I had to say would please him.

— … I can’t speak against your Lord Father.

I was sorry about it, but my duty was as much — or even more — a part of my identity as my silver-white hair or my ashy-grey skin. But I knew he could not understand.

— _Argh!_ Not you too!

I had only made it worse.

— No, Than … Don’t tell me you think I’m a fool, too.

— It’s not like that — you’re not a fool, Zag. You’re …

But I didn’t know how to finish. _What_ was he? He was so different from everything I understood, I hardly knew how to describe him.

Zag didn’t even let me think.

— I’m nothing, right? I’m a God of Nothing. I’m useless, here — I mean, even Hypnos has his thing, and you and Meg are always busy …

His anger subsided almost as quickly as it had flared up. Watching him loose his energy like this was worse than all the ranting. It made me ache that I didn’t know how to help him.

— Look at me … We have some rare time together, and all I can do his rage about Father.

Suddenly, he was sitting next to me on the bed, laying his head on my shoulder, like he used to do when he was smaller. It always shocked me at first when he did something like this, and I stiffened a bit. But then I relaxed into his warmth and ran my hand through his dark locks of hair, almost naturally. His body was still radiating, burning from his anger, but he was not yet strong enough to hurt me. The angry glow from his crown of laurels had faded to a more gentle light, softer on my eyes.

For all the similarities with his Lord Father — the fiery feet, the flashing red eye, the thick black hair — Zagreus was so much more gentle, so much kinder. His voice did not possess the vibrant echo of power that accompanied the words of most gods, yet it fell beautifully on the ear — like a soft, dark, but definitely warm, rumble, reminiscent of an hearth.

He still felt small and fragile to me, although he’d reached his mature size, capping at the height of my chin — to his eternal disappointment. His musculature built slowly — not unlike a mortal’s — through hard work and dedicated training.

He did not behave like what I knew of royalty. He was friendly to everyone, even the Shades. Sure, he could be full of himself, or even bratty, at times, but he never treated anyone like they weren’t deserving of his time and his full attention.

Living amongst cold, powerful gods, he was a kind and tender soul. Emoting came so easily to him, his smiles genuine, sweeter than a fireplace. He had a way of talking that made anything he said sound interesting — that made me want to listen.

And he was, in truth, rather insecure. His lack of a proper divine domain, among other things, got to him just as much as his father’s angers — and Lord Hades was not hesitant about reminding his son that he had no real purpose. Zagreus should never have had to hear such things, but I did not know how to reassure him. All I knew to do was lend my shoulder, and listen to his woes.

Every time he got in a bad mood, I was taken aback by the need I felt to protect him — not because Mother had told me to, but because I thought he was worth it.

— It’s okay, I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

— No, it’s not, he murmured, his breath warming my neck. But thanks, anyway.

I suppose it was lucky that, despite his mercurial emotions — and despite my inherent coldness — he could forgive my missteps so easily.

No matter how many years passed, I still could not understand why he was willing to spend so much time with me.

But the more he grew, the angrier he became, the more restless he was, and I didn’t know what to say or what to do. Sometimes he sought me out, like before, but then complained that I treated him like a child — which he was, from my point of view. I was worried that I couldn’t keep up with him, and someday, he would leave me behind.

He had so much _life_ in him, and I knew only death.

✶

**By then,** Demeter’s endless winter was really taking its toll on mortals, who struggled to feed themselves and keep their fires burning. I rarely had occasion to spend time in the House.

So it was through rumours, circulating amongst whispering Shades, that I learned about Zag and Meg’s new relationship. Normally, I easily ignored the Shades in the House — they were inconsequential, beyond my domain, and spent most of their time complaining — but when one mentioned the name ‘Zagreus’, I heard it clear as a small explosion.

I was as surprised as anybody else — but then, if anyone could charm a Fury, of course it would be him.

I found her drinking in the lounge. No surprise.

— So … You and Zag, huh?

Megaera groaned into her drink.

— _Ugh,_ I can’t believe the whole House knows already. Can nobody keep their mouths shut here?

— I’ll shut up and leave you alone, if you want me to.

She waved the offer away.

— No, stay. You’re a lot less annoying than all the others.

— … Thanks … I guess.

— …

— …

None of us were very good at conversations. But Meg understood bluntness.

— Why? I simply said.

— ’Cause I got bored. And he looks nice enough.

That was that.

I knew her reasons were more complex than that. Meg could be brutal, as her role required, but, unlike her sisters, she was not heartless. Although she was adamant about hiding any sign of softness from the public eye.

I didn’t ask her anymore. She had a right to her privacy, so I let it go.

Zagreus was even more restless than usual. He kept talking about exploring the Underworld — even though he knew full well that his father would never let him go any farther than the first few halls in Tartarus — and he asked so many questions about what the Surface was like, that both the Shade Achilles and I had begun to repeat ourselves, out of answers for him.

One day (or night) he suddenly exclaimed:

— What if we borrowed Charon’s boat? ( _‘Steal’ is more like it,_ I thought. _As if he would let us._ ) We might even make it all the way to Elysium!

Megaera shook her head in disbelief.

— I thought you had stupid ideas before, she said with a smirk, but now you’ve really outdone yourself. They should call you the God of Stupid Ideas. People would pray to you for all their dumb plans to succeed.

It wasn’t her best joke, but Zagreus still laughed heartily.

— Oh, come on, it would be _fun._

— If you think getting your butt kicked is fun.

I was a little bit shaken by their easy camaraderie. I thought I’d never seen Megaera look so … comfortable, I guess, with anyone. I thought of them kissing and sharing a bed, and interjected before I could embarrass myself by blushing:

— You know Charon can Shift, too? He’d be on you before you could say ‘oops’.

— Oh.

The playful laugh faded quickly. Here, I’d done it. I ruined the mood — again. I was the awkward one, here. It would probably be better if I left them alone. They obviously enjoyed each-other’s company, and I could feel the pull of my duty getting stronger, building into a kind of headache, the more I tried to ignore it. What was the point of staying, if all I could do was feel so out of place?

— I … I have to go.

I expected — almost hoped — that Zagreus would try to hold me back, but he simply gave me one of his bright smiles and wished me luck on the job, as I Shifted back to the bitter cold of the Surface. They did not need me here while they had each-other.

I drowned myself in work, again. It was what I did best.

While Zag and Meg grew ever closer, I was growing more self-conscious. I remembered my conversation with Atropos.

_I am but a messenger of death. I am merely a vessel …_

I had not resented my nature since then, but now …

Megaera knew more of Zagreus than I ever could, and it pained me. Maybe it was because I was away so often, and she was here with him. She was here _for_ him, when I could not.

Meg didn’t run as cold as the rest of us. And if anyone could keep up with Zag’s ridiculous energy levels, it would probably be her.

Was I being _jealous?_

No, I was being _ridiculous._

A sudden gust of wind blew my long hair in my face and a strand of it stuck in my mouth. I spit it out, uncharacteristically annoyed. Then, with an impulsiveness that would have impressed the Prince, I took out my sword, wrapped my hair around my other hand, and cut it off. I watched the pale locks float on the breeze, almost the same colour as the snow. They turned to ash and disappeared, before they could hurt the ground more than the seemingly endless winter already did.

I regretted my actions immediately. It wasn’t like me to be shaken so easily. I was supposed to be steadfast — an example for Hypnos, among other things. Not an emotional mess.

_What is happening to me?_

Then I saw a butterfly — a real, living butterfly — bobbing on the wind, above the snow. A strange sight, considering the late spring. Tenacious little thing.

Did it mean anything? Or was it just another small, mortal life, struggling against its inevitable death?

I had stopped questioning the Fates a long time ago, when they had flipped my world upside down.

Things would go their way, regardless of what anybody wished.

I left the mystery butterfly well alone, and went back in a hurry to the comfort and familiarity of my duties.

— Wow, Boss! What happened to your hair?

— _Hhrrrnnn …_

Hermes was with Charon when I met him to drop the newly collected souls.

_I do not need this right now._

Hermes is one to rival Hypnos when it comes to gossip and talking way too much. Although Hermes does it considerably faster.

I hurriedly pulled my hood back up and cursed myself.

Hermes was floating around Charon in circles, like he couldn’t help himself. His propensity for warm colours and apparent inability to stay still reminded me of Zagreus. It was oddly irritating.

— _Ggkhhhhhk hhnnn … ?_

Charon’s question was well meaning, I knew, but still unwelcome.

— I’m fine.

— Really, Boss? Were these shadows under your eyes always there? I mean, pardon my saying, but you really look like you could use a break. I wouldn’t mind helping. Family of my friend are also my friends, or something?

Now he was hanging almost upside down, with his ankles crossed and hands resting behind his head, like this was supposed to be a relaxing position.

— I’m _fine,_ I growled.

And left in a hurry.

There weren’t many people I could turn to for help — so it was that I found myself in front of Megaera. Fortunately, she was alone this time.

— Than—!

— Is it that bad?

— Did you just cut your hair with your scythe?

— With my sword, actually.

— Why _you_ even need to carry two weapons, I’ll never understand.

I said nothing. I was just glad that she did not ask the reason behind my sudden thoughtless behaviour.

— Come with me, she said simply.

I followed on foot, feeling a little ungainly from lack of habit — my hair carefully hidden under my hood again. She brought me to her room, which was about as sparse as mine, except hers actually looked lived-in.

She had me sit on a chair in front of a mirror while she gathered a bowl of water, a comb, and a small dagger. I pushed back my hood and grimaced at how stupid I now looked. Yes, it was pretty bad.

My relationship with Megaera, thankfully, had not changed, and I could count on her to have my back.

She dipped the comb in the water and started brushing it through my hair.

— So … You want to talk about what happened?

— No.

— All right.

Our tacit understanding. Comfortable silence.

She worked quietly, and I found myself relaxing into the feeling of the comb’s soft scratching on my scalp and the tugs and pulls as she carefully cut my abused hair with the sharp dagger, turning the mess at the back of my head into something resembling an actual hairstyle. Whatever reputation she had to protect, she could be quite gentle when she wanted to.

I couldn’t remember the last time I let someone take care of me. I wasn’t planning on making it an habit.

— I owe you one, Meg.

— I’ll hold you to that. But you’ve been working yourself to the bone, lately.

— I don’t get to decide how many souls require me at any time—

— Look, just stop complaining and at least get yourself a drink in the lounge, before you do something else you’ll regret.

_Sigh._

One does not simply argue with a Fury.

But before I could get back to the lounge — I was so lost in thoughts that I’d accidentally _walked_ there — I ran into Zagreus.

— Than! What happened to your hair?

He looked crestfallen, which only aggravated me more.

— I cut it.

— But why would you do that? I was so long and beautiful—

— What I do with my body is none of your business!

— Wait, I—!

I Shifted out of the House before he could say anything else.

It didn’t matter, what he thought of my hair.

It _didn’t._

I later learned about their break-up, the same way I seemed to learn about everything else, nowadays: Through whispers and rumours.

I’m almost never in the House, anymore.

Work is my safe haven, the only thing that feels right. Tasks I can perform flawlessly, without worry. Some mortals, who are suffering, even welcome my presence, and can finally sigh in peace as I carry their tired souls to the Afterlife, and I cherish these moments — I know I’m doing the right thing. I’m where I belong.

There is no such certainty, when it comes to Zagreus. My traitorous mind won’t let it be, until I can feel him tugging at my spirit, overshadowing the Calls of mortals who actually need me.

Still, I fear I have grown detached from him — and how it pains me!

How is it that he has still such an influence on me?

Why do I care so much?

What are the Fates playing at?

✶

**— Hypnos, you’re supposed to register them and get on with the next task.** Not have _conversations_ with them.

— But, I’m the first contact they have with the House, isn’t it part of my job to, y’know, make them feel welcome? Give a good first impression of the whole of us?

I’ve been on bad terms with Hypnos since he ‘borrowed’ Mort — and proceeded to loose him. He said it wasn’t fair I had a Chthonic Companion and not him. I said he was unreliable at best and ought to be ashamed. And that was that.

We rarely talk, anymore.

Except when his reports are remarkably late. So much so that Mother expressed some hope that I might inspire him to take his duty more seriously.

If he will only take _me_ seriously.

But before I can say anymore, someone comes out of the Pool of the Styx.

Someone I know very well.

— … Meg?

I can scarce believe it. Megaera is probably the second strongest person I know, right after Mother Nyx. Meg could give Lord Ares a run for his money, I am sure. What could have killed her?

Unsurprisingly, she is fuming.

— Oh! He got you again! Z—

— Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence.

Hypnos is lucky that her eyes alone can’t kill, or he would be the one swimming in the Styx.

I lift a silent eyebrow as she passes by, probably headed straight to the lounge to find the strongest drink available.

_Who?_

— Don’t wanna talk about it.

It’s all the answer I’ll get. I can respect that.

Hypnos, however, does not have such sensibilities.

— Wow! Zagreus _really_ got strong!

— Wait, _Zagreus_ did this?

I know that he likes to spar with the Shade Achilles to pass time, but I’ve never heard of him challenging a Fury before. Even _he’s_ not that dumb …

— Well, _yeah!_ It’s, like, the seventh time he’s beaten her. Although, she did wipe the floor with him quite a few times, too, so it’s kind of equal? Anyway, I’ve got it aaall on record here!

He taps a knuckle on his sheaf of parchment — where I notice a whole lot of doodles, obviously meant to represent Megaera and Zagreus, with whips and swords. And little hearts.

_What is going on with this House …_

I’m so tense already, I can feel a headache coming.

— … He must be on his way through Asphodel, now. I wonder if he’s going to beat the Bone Hydra, this time? He brought the spear with him — it says right here, ‘Fury Megaera defeated by Varatha, the Eternal Spear’, but trust me, I know it’s Zagreus behind it — I’ve seen him come out of the Pool loooads of time already — but he tends to get pretty far when he has his spear, anyway. Hey, d’you think he’s taking my advices to heart?

‘Oh, by the way, did you know that the Bone Hydra shows up on this list, too? Even though it’s not a person—

— Hypnos! Slow down, I say, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. Just what the Hell is going on? What is Zagreus _doing?_

How can he be in Asphodel? He’s barely allowed out of the House. Lord Hades would never let him go this far.

— Haven’t you heard? He’s running away! He’s going to the Surface.

Hypnos might as well have thrown a rock in my face. Or stabbed me in the guts.

Zagreus is going to the Surface. He wants to leave.

Zagreus is _leaving._

No, it’s impossible. There is no escape. No one leaves.

He’s just trying to go through his endless reserves of energy. Another one of his stupid games.

He wouldn’t just _leave_ … would he?

Does he really hate his father this much?

Does he hate the House? Us? His family.

Does he hate _me?_

_Why didn’t he say anything to me?_

He used to tell me everything—

— … Hey, Than! Are you listening to me?

— Just get back to work, Hypnos. And for the love of Darkness, _stop doodling._

I Shift straight to the Administrative Chamber — badly scaring a group of working Shades in the process — to find Mother helping to organize the death files there.

Which should be part of _Hypnos’_ job. Unbelievable.

_This place is falling apart._

I feel like my mind is not far behind. I can hardly remember the last time I felt so stressed.

Emotional turmoil is supposed to be foreign to me.

‘My son’ is all the greeting I get, as she keeps reading the various files in her delicate hands.

I grab one at random:

**ZAGREUS, Prince of the Underworld —**

**DEFEATED by a Witch, ASPHODEL.**

There are plenty more of those, not to mention piles of the records for all the Wretched Shades he has sent back to Erebus, to be processed all over again. Suddenly, it’s no wonder that Hypnos’ reports are so late. There are so many!

_What kind of a mess have you made this time, Zag?_

— Mother … I say, but my voice is rough, and I have to swallow.

I try to take a steadying breath. In public, Mother asks that we talk with our physical voices and keep our bodies under tight control. Before, we could truly be ourselves — wilder, our shapes less constricted — but things have changed. (The proof to this, I now hold in my hand.)

Talking requires breathing, something that is unnatural to me. Nevertheless, she waits patiently for me to compose myself, the very picture of grace. An example for us all.

— Mother, I try again, Hypnos said that the Prince is trying to reach the Surface. Is it true?

_Is he really leaving? Is it even possible?_

— It is true.

Her cool voice reaches right into my silent heart, filling it with dread.

— How … ?

— He believes he can find his birth mother on the Surface — and he has my full support, as well as the support of a few of his Olympian relatives.

— He’s in contact with Olympus?

This keeps getting more ridiculous. So much so that I could almost start believing that something so obviously impossible — like _escaping the Underworld_ — could actually happen.

— Do not worry, my child. I have put him in contact with Lady Athena myself, and he is shielded by my own veil, so that they can never see anything that happens down here. The Olympians merely believe that their long lost cousin is attempting to join them on their mountain.

— And the Master, in all of this?

— He is angry, of course, and will not make things easy for his son.

I’ve seen enough battlefield carnage, working alongside the God of War, to be able to imagine Zagreus dying violently again and again and again.

The thought makes my sick.

— You are abetting him …

— He has outgrown this House. It was unavoidable that he should eventually seek to escape, and find the truth.

— You said you were bound to never reveal the details of his birth.

— And I did not. (She looks upset that I would dare hint that she would, and I flinch inwardly.) He discovered the truth about her by himself.

I can’t remember much about Persephone — I was actively avoiding her, after all. But of course, when Zagreus found of her existence, he could not let it rest. He’s too curious and impetuous for his own good.

— Did he … (I struggle to get the words out.) Did he … leave any note, or word … for me?

I am embarrassed by how needy I sound — but I refuse to believe he would just _leave,_ without saying anything—

She lets out a soft sigh:

— Oh, my dear child, I am afraid he did not.

I didn’t know I could feel even colder than I already was.

— … You should find him, Thanatos. It would likely be beneficial for the both of you, I believe, to talk properly. And say good-bye.

I have her blessing, then.

I don’t wait any longer.

The unbearable feeling of emptiness in me is solidifying into one of the very few emotions I can properly identify: Anger.

Even though I haven’t done so in quite a while, I can sense his soul’s peculiar flame and track him all the way up to Elysium. ( _Elysium!_ He’s made it this far!)

I will always find him, wherever he is. It’s embarrassing, really, how easy it is.

Of course, there is also the path of destruction he has left behind. Does he really need to trigger every trap, smash into every column on his way?

_Reckless fool …_

His flame is flickering: He’s getting hurt. Of course he is.

I Shift as near to his location as I can infer, and land in the middle of a battle.

My appearances are accompanied by the deep toll of a bell and a flash of green light — an habit I have developed after Zagreus complained it was creepy to have me appear out of nowhere without warning. It’s an obnoxious display, but I do it, anyway.

Even when I’m angry with him.

And this time, it works to my advantage.

Everything seems to still for a second, as if the air itself has frozen over. The Exalted Shades are confused by my presence, by the seemingly spontaneous arrival of Death himself. It only lasts a moment, but it’s enough for me to confirm the situation.

With renewed vigour, the violence-hungry Shades converge again on the bright red-orange presence in their midst — Zag’s vibrance clashing with the muted blues and greens of the Elysian fields. They completely ignore me. Maybe they are even wise enough to know that they can’t hurt me.

Which makes it all that much easier to Shift in the path of an arrow aimed at the Prince’s unguarded back and catch it with my gauntleted hand.

— _Thanatos!_ he exclaims.

He looks back with his mouth agape, like he’s not being set on by two Longspears at once.

— Zag, focus!

He, thankfully, has enough presence of mind to parry and dodge the incoming attacks, dashing quickly through a low wall, trying to find a more advantageous position to deal with these two foes.

Meanwhile, I set my mark on the offending Strongbow and dispatch it in a blink.

I have to hold back, of course. As tempting as it is to obliterate everything in this chamber — let loose my resentment on all these helpless Shades — I’m always worried I might hurt Zagreus in the melee.

And he’s not making it easy on me, dashing all over the place, trying to kill the foes I’ve marked before I can deal with them.

Always competitive to a fault. Trying to show-off.

_What an idiot._

And a small part of me is secretly pleased to see him like this — so full of energy. He surprises me — distracts me, really — with a raucous bark of laughter when he somehow manages to kill-steal from me. He looks like he’s enjoying himself greatly. Like this is just a fun game.

The last time I saw him, he was dispirited. Like a wolf in a cage.

Maybe …

Maybe, this is doing good to him?

The thought scares me.

The battle wraps while I’m still thinking. Silence falls again over the emerald fields — the paradise it’s meant to be.

Now that he’s stopped moving so much, I can finally see the full extent of his wounds.

Blood runs down in rivulets from his pale skin, blending in with the scarlet folds of the cloak wrapped across his torso. He wipes carelessly at a cut leaking on his forehead, before the blood can get into his green eye. His breathing is ragged. His feet flicker and his laurels send sparks high, as if reacting to his adrenaline. For the moment, he looks both strong and fragile.

My eyes latch onto his bare arm, the muscle shifting slightly as he recalls his spear. Did he get stronger while I was gone? Was he always so … so …

I look away.

I can feel his mismatched eyes on me.

I long to look into his uncanny eyes, to inspect the elegant planes of his face, to find the old prince I knew back then …

Instead, I look towards the Lethe.

— … I figured it was only a matter of time before Father send you after me to do his dirty work.

His warm, normally soothing voice, falls flat between us.

Oh, that hurts.

— _Zagreus …_ (My voice feels ragged, just saying his name after so much time.) Is that really why you think I’m here?

_Do you really think I came here only because someone ordered me to?_

_Do you think I came here to_ **_kill_ ** _you?_

_Do you think I would ever_ **_hurt_ ** _you?_

It’s too much for me to handle right now. I have to close my eyes.

I feel him walking closer, feel his warmth — even after all this time, he still has such an effect on me. I can’t help but look at him.

I’m momentarily struck dumb. He looks more … mature, than I remember. And … handsome. I don’t know what to make of it.

Fortunately, it’s a mere moment before I recall why I’m here, in the first place. The anger clears my head.

I can’t kill the Elysian grass, since it’s not truly alive, to begin with, but still I stay afloat. It makes me feel better, in control — which I sorely need right now. And so I tower over him as he comes up to me, looking for all the world like a kid caught in a prank. A face I know all too well. Or one I used to know, anyway.

He kicks at a piece of rubble on the ground, leaving a scorched mark behind.

— That seems like something Father would do: Send out Death himself to block my path.

I hate that he sees me this way. Weren’t he the one who called me his friend?

— I’m entirely capable of acting of my own volition.

He looks like he wants to responds with some biting remark, but thinks better of it, closes his mouth and picks up another piece of rubble to throw in the Lethe.

We’re both quiet for a moment. He has his breath back under control, his various cuts beginning to heal, albeit slowly. Under all the dried blood, he looks good, all in all. For now, at any rate.

Judging from his records, he has been beaten to a pulp many times already. But Zagreus was never afraid of death …

— You left, I finally manage to say (my voice barely above a whisper), without so much as telling me good-bye. I suppose you knew I’d catch up with you sooner or later, is that it? (Hopeful.) No escaping death, and all?

_Is this just one of your silly games?_

— I left when it was necessary, Than. I thought of you and hoped you’d understand.

Zagreus was always known for his impulsiveness and dubious decisions, but now he looks so _serious_ — the determination plain on his face. He really means it. He’s running away.

_You ‘thought of me’, you say. Did you, really?_

— You could have told me.

I hate how hurt I sound. How pitiful—

— You weren’t there. You’re never th—

He bites his lip.

_You’re never there._

I still hear it, plain as day. As painful as Helios’ chariot.

I wasn’t there when he needed me, and so I’ve lost the right to his confidence.

— I have to do this, Than.

He tries to reach out to me with one hand, but I float back reflexively. He lets his hand fall, looking shot down, but I have nothing left to give except thorns.

— That’s more motivation than I’ve ever heard from you.

I look away again, steeling myself. He’s picked his side. I have mine. There’s nothing more to it.

— Well, if you won’t say it, I’ll say it. _Good-bye,_ Zagreus.

I leave, before the hurt can consume me.

What an ugly feeling.

This is a House of Death —

Zagreus has too much life in him to ever fit in. He is a bright light, pushing back against the shadows.

It was but a matter of time before he tried to leave, to find the other half of his identity, to breach the Surface.

It is as Mother Nyx said: He has outgrown this House. He doesn’t need my shoulder to cry on anymore. It’s probably better for all of us if I stay away from him — but I can’t.

I can’t.

_I can’t …_


	3. Moth to a Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zag gets hurt a lot. Of course he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had something more romantic to offer in time for V-Day, but my progress with this thing is too slow, so instead it’s angst, angst & Than not realizing he’s pining bad. (LOL)  
> Nevertheless, I’ve been having fun writing Zag getting his butt kicked & Than going ‘You fucking moron!’ like a good lil’ _tsundere._

**I’m a fool —** I shouldn’t let him get to me like this — I shouldn’t be feeling all these things, this longing — I should have left my emotions behind long ago —

I shouldn’t be feeling so torn, divided … I shouldn’t—

Death is impartial. Death does not take sides. Death can’t have favourites.

And yet … _And yet …_

I can feel it so clearly, this strange glow inside of me, born of all his smiles, all the times he came crying to me — this glow that carries me back to him, every time — and it hurts, trying not to reach out to him. It’s almost worse than ignoring the Calls of my duty.

And he doesn’t even want me here.

 _‘I don’t need your help, Than,’_ he told me before.

_‘It wasn’t being offered.’_

He can run away all he wants. He can die bloody death after bloody death, if he wants.

But he doesn’t get to control me.

_I am a fool …_

✶

**Despite my better judgement,** I’ve already made an habit of it.

Whenever there’s a lull in my work, I will find Zagreus wherever he is currently in the Underworld — too often, when he’s getting his ass handed to him. Then we have one of our ‘contests’ — which is mainly an excuse for me to help him while pretending I’m not actually here to help him. If he wins, I give him a Centaur Heart for the rest of his journey. This is the best I can do for him.

(Does he realize that I’m holding back? If he knew, he would never let me hear the end of it.)

This time, Zagreus is in Asphodel when I reach him.

— Already winded? You’re not even near the Surface.

Although I’m trying to make peace with his decision to leave, the words still come out stiff — especially after witnessing his sorry state. I hate to see him hurt like this, but I can hardly carry him back to the House and lock him up. He would hate me. And I would hate myself, for forcing my will on him. Not an option.

And he’s been enjoying all the fighting. I know he is.

— I’ve just been trying out this new weapon, he says (carelessly holding out his bow). Haven’t gotten the hang of it, yet.

I could guess, judging by all the caked-up, dried blood on his body.

— Well then, just hang back and let me help.

— No way!

And ever energetic — read _stupidly reckless_ — Prince Zagreus rushes in the melee, apparently incapable of acting sensibly. I barely stifle a sigh. _Here we go again._

Although he’s using a bow, he can’t seem to keep the distance from his foes, and acts like he’s still carrying his trusty sword. No wonder he’s struggling.

He has no idea what he’s getting himself into. He never does.

— You’re too reckless, Zag.

— That’s why you like me! he says with a cheeky grin.

Right as he gets hit in the stomach by a Dracon’s needle. From the freaking front!

_Unbelievable._

If he wasn’t so busy trying to be _witty—_

But, right as I’m about to dispatch the responsible Dracon, there is a blood-red flash, and it fizzles out with a high-pitched dying wail. _Huh?_

A Bloodstone sails right past, barely missing my nose, and Zagreus follows close behind with a battle cry.

— Dammit, Zag, _focus!_

— Sorry!

He doesn’t sound sorry.

Focussing my attention mainly on the area around him — trying, vainly, to keep him out of trouble — I notice the strange red-black glow that surrounds him. I well recognize that violent energy — Lord Ares.

I know the Olympians are helping him, giving him boons and blessings, and I’ve felt their various imprints on him before — even if I’m not familiar enough with the Olympic gods to recognize them all.

The God of War is probably the one I know best. Not necessarily for good reasons.

To feel his influence on my friend (and we _are_ still friends, are we?) is not exactly comforting. Lady Athena’s cool focus would likely benefit him more. Not that I can do anything about it.

I feel oddly helpless. An unusual feeling.

We end up tying.

— You could have left some, Than.

A ridiculous statement, considering.

He’s holding his stomach, like his hand is all that’s keeping his innards where they belong. I silently drift closer and tap his bloodied hand with a finger, trying to see the extent of the damage.

— Oh, don’t worry, it’s already knitting back together.

Which does nothing to alleviate my worries, on the contrary — Zagreus is a goner.

A bright red flash, and a floating orb appears nearby. Lord Ares’ emblem.

Does he have nothing better to do than send messages to the Underworld? Is his latest war not pleasant enough for him?

Zagreus tries to make his way towards the red orb, but wobbles sideways, and I catch him just before he manages to fall in the burning Phlegethon. His feet may look like live coals, but he’s not fireproof. I touch down on the black lava-rock, grounding myself so I can help carry his weight on a shoulder.

Normally, being this close to him would make me feel like I’m burning up, but now I barely feel it. Maybe it’s because there’s already so much heat in Asphodel — more likely, it’s because he’s dying. Again.

— Zagreus, you’re an idiot.

— Thanks. You’re great, too.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

He’s almost covered in crimson blood. His own blood, like painted rivers on his warm flesh. Nobody else in the Underworld bleeds like this.

 _So much blood …_ He’s not going to last long.

I can feel it, like the Call. Not something I wish to see. Not _again._

But what can I do, really?

Should I give him a Centaur Heart now? We tied, so he didn’t technically loose — I can rationalize it this way. I don’t know what to do. I’m not a healer, this is not my domain. I would only be prolonging his suffering, which is the exact opposite of my domain, of my very nature.

— You’re not going to make it far like this, I say, my voice coming out flat.

_I don’t know what to do._

— There might still be a healing fountain just around that corner …

— There’s no fountain over there. And I don’t believe one measly fountain would be much help to you in this pitiful state.

_I don’t know what to do._

— Aw, Than. Way to spoil the fun.

— This is not a game, Zagreus.

_Ugh, why do you always have to make such a mess of things?_

— Then, what do you propose? That I just walk back to the House? Honestly, I don’t even know how to do that. I suppose I could just throw myself in the magma, that would give Hypnos a good laugh. Or you could carry me, like one of your mortals …

I have a fleeting thought of carrying Zagreus in my arms, bridal-style, and snap:

— I don’t carry mortals, not like _that._

He’s babbling feverishly now, like a man on the edge. The words come out stiffly through clenched teeth. As often as he’s died, Zagreus still isn’t above feeling pain.

I can’t empathize with his pain — I’ve never been wounded, not like this. I can only try to sympathize. I can’t die. The worst I’ve ever felt was when that knave Sisyphus trapped me on the Surface for too many days, chains burning like acid, the unanswered cries of suffering mortals threatening to split my head in two. If dying for Zagreus feels anything like this, then I don’t know how he keeps doing it.

He’s still trying to get to the red orb, stubborn as ever, but I lead him to sit down, back against a stalagmite. The message is not going anywhere. Unlike him, if I can help it.

I crouch beside him and summon a Heart. An offering. I won’t watch him die here.

_Not if I can help it._

— … I didn’t win.

— You didn’t loose. Look, just take it already!

The look of relief on his face soothes my spirit, if only for a little while.

There will be more of these. I can’t contain him. I’m starting to think nobody can.

And it frightens me.

— You took too much of Lord Ares’ blessing.

— I know what I’m doing, Than.

— No, you don’t. You just rush head first into things until you hit a wall — and then you start all over again.

— OK, maybe you’re right … But then, he had this thing where he said my foes would take extra damage whenever I got hurt, and it sounded really helpful—

— Are you a _masochist?_ Or just retarded?

— I wasn’t _planning_ on getting hurt. Just, you know, backup …

I can hardly believe how careless Zagreus can be with his own body. (Does he _enjoy_ the pain?) But more than anything, I’m angry: Angry with Lord Ares, whose lust for violence has put Zag in danger; angry with Zag, for failing to realize that the God of War is playing him like a toy soldier; and angry with myself, for caring too much.

The thought comes unbidden when I have too much space to think: _What if he doesn’t come back?_ What if his apparently endless number of lives are limited, after all, and he’s slowly, but steadily, throwing himself towards his doom? How can he be so nonchalant about it?

I’m afraid he’s living on borrowed time. Atropos said he could not live, the Moirae’s laws are absolute. And yet, here he is.

Mother Nyx always refused to tell me how she revived him, sworn to a vow of secrecy. Was it merely her power, or had she made a deal with her daughters? What would it take for the Fates to change their minds?

Zagreus is a walking, breathing impossibility. It feels dangerous. A tip in the balance. Something fragile that would shatter with one careless step—

I can’t think like this, or I’ll drive myself insane. I can’t hold him back. He can’t be contained. He’ll just keep throwing himself against wall after wall, until one finally breaks.

I can’t ever say any of this to him. I gave my promise to Mother. An oath of my own.

I can only strive to protect him. Which he is not making easy for me.

There’s a fresh sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looks feverish.

I catch myself before I can wipe the hair sticking to his forehead with the back of my hand.

— Are you worried … ? Come on, Than … race you back to the House …

— You’re not making any sense.

I rise from my crouch, throwing my cool shadow over him. He seems more relaxed, at the very least. The grimace of pain gone, for now.

I have lingered too long, already. I’ve let myself feel too much.

— … Going already?

Like I haven’t made myself late in my duties just to help him. I feel the irritation flare-up again. Something familiar to anchor me in this mess of uncertainties.

— Be careful, Zag.

— I’ll try …

Somehow, I doubt he will.

Zagreus may not possess any special skill or strength, but what he _does_ have is sheer determination, the power to stand his ground in the face of adversity. No matter how many times he is brutally defeated, he will get back up. And he goes on, and on …

There is something … noble about it, I think — whatever selfish reasons he might have.

I’ve never seen him give himself to a task so fully, before. It’s almost like he was born to do this.

After all, he always struggled with the feeling of having no purpose. Now, he has finally found a goal, something to fight for.

And I have to wonder: If he reaches the Surface, will he ever look back?

I may be able to go back and forth as I please, but I can never stay there for very long, or I get sick. I wouldn’t be able to follow him. And he would leave me behind for this goal of his.

Would he forget me, after a while?

What if he never comes back?

This fear has been my constant companion since I first found him in Elysium. He would have left, then, without saying anything to me — if the Champion hadn’t killed him and thus stopped him in his tracks.

I’ve never yearned for his presence so much before. I’ve changed.

And it’s terrifying.

So why am I helping him run away? It’s not only because I hate to see him hurt.

I try to meet with him as much as I can. I’m afraid that one day I’ll come back and he’ll be gone, truly gone …

Back in my chambers, I take the Pierced Butterfly that Atropos once gave me — which I stashed away after I met the very not-dead prince Zagreus, and got upset in my confusion.

I bring the cold pin to my lip and exhale slowly.

_May you be careful. May you avoid injury. May you become stronger._

_May you go on living …_

The jewelled eyes of the butterfly glow briefly, then go back to sleep.

That should do. I hope.

I materialize back near the Main Hall, and immediately feel the stares — the surprise, the winces, the glare from Lord Hades, though _he_ glares at most everything. I did the bell-toll thing again. Oops.

I’ve been so distracted lately. How embarrassing.

Not everybody appreciates my apparitions. Not everybody is Zagreus.

Although, sometimes I wonder if he still appreciates me at all, or if he’s merely standing my presence.

I decide I’d better drift somewhere else.

Most Shades stay well out of my way, still afraid of me, even though they are now beyond my reach. The Shade Achilles, however, gives me a short duty-bow. That’s something, at least.

I find myself on the West-Wing balcony, overlooking the scarlet Styx. I can see the souls here drifting by on their final voyage.

This is not my domain — the river belongs to Charon. But there is something relaxing about looking on the fruits of my labour. Even if they still hate and fear me, these souls are safe now. Where they belong. Ready for whatever will come next.

Not all of them are safe from harm, true, but the punishments for sinners is always fair — more than can be said about life. Death is impartial.

… Or, it’s supposed to be. I’ve been late, nowadays. I’ve been torn. I feel unfamiliar desires growing in me.

I’m failing my duties. _I’m failing—_

Then, I hear the splashing sounds heralding a new arrival, and Hypnos exclaiming with glee about Zagreus’ latest death. And that’s all it takes for me to forget about my duties again.

Well, what do you know.

I stay still, despite the anticipation building — grace and serenity. I am a son Nyx, I don’t lose myself to anxiety. I hold my scythe tighter — an anchor of sorts. A reminder.

I don’t turn around when I sense Zagreus walk towards me. Pretending I wasn’t waiting for him. Pretending I wasn’t hoping he would come looking for me.

— You were right, he says, leaning against the railing next to me.

I allow myself a glimpse from the corner of my eyes, watching the ripple of lean muscles along his arm and chest as he settles his elbows on the ramp, back to the Styx. Then he looks back at me with a grin, his elegant throat exposed, head thrown back casually, and I decide I’m better off looking in the water again.

There’s an odd stirring in my chest. I can almost feel my cold heart beating.

If I were a mortal, I would probably worry I was getting sick.

I’ve been so strange lately.

— I couldn’t make it past Lernie, he sighs. Messed up this one.

— ‘Lernie’?

— You know, that Bone Hydra monster-thing? I figure, if I’m going to fight it again and again, I might as well give it a proper name.

— You’re a weird one, you know that?

— And you’re kind of mean.

— Just pointing out the truth.

I frown. Why does everything I say seem to come out wrong?

I don’t know how to do this. How did we even become friends, in the first place? He was the one who came to me.

Maybe I should’ve smiled. It used to be easier.

_What happened to us?_

I belatedly realize he’s holding a bottle of Nectar in one hand. Those are supposed to be banned from here — not that Zagreus would care.

Suddenly, he thrusts it out at me.

— What is this, Zagreus, I groan.

— A fine vintage, as you can plainly see. (He gives it a slight shake.) Which I got through blood and sweat. For you.

He punctuates this with a mischievous grin, obviously proud of himself for procuring contraband.

When I say nothing, he suddenly grabs my wrist and pushes the bottle in my hand. He doesn’t seem to appreciate the fact that he’s one of the very few people who can take me by surprise like this and survive.

— Just take it, Than, okay? he says, forcing my fingers around the bottle.

His hands always feel shockingly hot. Or maybe it’s just me who’s too cold.

I’ve touched him before, of course — even carried him on my back when he was smaller, his soothing warmth pressed against my body. But now it feels different, almost electric.

_What is wrong with me?_

I can’t afford to think like this. And it’s _Zagreus,_ of all people. Things are difficult enough as it is.

I send the bottle back to my chambers with a (slightly nervous) sigh and take the Pierced Butterfly from were it was hidden in a fold of my chiton.

— If you insist, then you take _this_ from me.

— Than! It was a gift, you don’t have to—

— I insist. And if anybody asks, we’re even. O-or, scratch that, don’t talk about this to anybody, understand?

And I Shift away again, before I can regret my decision.

Next time I see him, he’s pinned my Butterfly to his belt. Maybe it’s hopeful thinking on my part, but he seems a little bit more careful.

It makes me feel warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long between chapters, but I get so obsessed fussing over details & I want the text to be its absolute best. I’m utterly incapable of doing anything casually. This is hard. ;;  
> & thank you for all the nice comments!  
> This is getting somewhere, I promise.


	4. of the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Than is Confused™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Begins chapter w/ a joke about how long it takes me between chapters …
> 
> & if Than comes off as slightly autistic, it’s probably because I’m guilty of projecting onto him. :P  
> Writing hard, guys.

**Time is meaningless to immortals —** time is a mortal construct. Minutes bleed into days that bleed into years in an endlessly moving stream …

So why, then, do I feel like I’ve been gone for _too long?_

I Shift back to my favourite spot on the West-Wing balcony, overlooking the river Styx, and am surprised to notice the new rug and sittings. Who commissioned this? Certainly not Lord Hades — he hates for anyone to sit idle. Maybe Mother Nyx? Does she have the resources to waste on this? It’s not like anybody likes to hang around this specific corner, owing to how it’s somehow become Death’s corner. Hypnos might have dropped-by before, but I’ve effectively chased him away with one too many bitting remarks, and now he doesn’t bother. Maybe I ought to be a little nicer to him. _Hmm …_

The seats are padded in my favourite shades of violet and silver. And the candles have been changed to something smaller, the light softer on my eyes.

It feels strangely … personal.

 _Could it be … ?_ No, this is ridiculous, even for _him._

Zagreus has been turning up with gift after extravagant gift, despite my insistence that he do not. I can never seem to answer appropriately, and end up sounding rude or downright annoyed. Yet he keeps coming with all these gifts, and his easy smiles that make me feel oddly warm and tender. And I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t _understand._

Why does he still give so much, despite barely ever getting anything in return?

Still, I find myself anticipating each new gift with a spark of excitement — that I try my best to stifle. Achilles and Megaera have been receiving just as many nectar bottles from him — probably. What does it _mean,_ really?

I’ve been so confused lately. And I’m too embarrassed to go and _ask_ him.

It’s so frustrating.

Almost instinctively, I close my eyes and stretch my senses.

(As if seeing his face one more time could clear all these doubts about my feelings?)

I will always find him, wherever he is—

Except this time, I don’t.

I don’t—

I know his soul’s radiance almost better than I know myself. Better than I know my own mother’s starlit sky. But I only come up with emptiness.

_What—? Where—?_

What is going on?

It can’t be. Zagreus is _nowhere!_

Even though I stretch my senses to their limits, I can’t find him anywhere!

_It can’t be._

This has never happened before.

Even in the short space of time between his passage from death to rebirth, Zag’s soul _burns._ I will always find him, whether he’s alive or dead. _I will always find him—_

But now there is _nothing._

The emptiness is pressing on me, from inside and out. The more I focus, the more painful it becomes. My body grows colder with every second.

Whenever his body dies, Zag’s soul remains safely attached to its vessel, merely waiting for the shock of the Styx waters to revive him — he might have been sleeping, for all the difference it makes. But …

But … what if his thread had snapped? His soul, lost …

That thread always looked so fragile.

_Don’t leave me, not like this … Not like this …_

_Not this not this not—_

I clutch at my own arms, golden claws digging into my skin, and the small pinpricks of pain pierce through my blanched mind. I need someone with a clearer view. Someone who knows the pathways of the Underworld like nobody else.

Charon is the Styx, and the Styx is Charon.

If Zagreus is dead, lost somewhere in transit, the Boatman will know.

I follow the river quickly and find him somewhere in the depths of Tartarus, gently guiding souls to their new home.

I hear a sound like a deep beating of drums and pounding waves. I takes me a moment to realize I’m listening to my own heart.

My normally sluggish heart is beating in a panic. I’m panicking.

The last time time I’ve felt this way was the first time I saw Zagreus die — my heart suddenly as loud in my ears as his was quiet. I hugged his dead body close, pearlescent tears on my cheeks, clinging to him as if my hold alone could help keep his soul safely inside, until Charon somehow found me and explained I had to let go of his body and give him back to the Styx. I felt so lost.

I feel so lost …

We don’t talk, now. We don’t need to.

I’m careful to keep my gaze somewhere above his shoulder. In my current state, I’m not sure I can control myself.

Wisps of purple vapour surround me, almost caressing, as if trying to soothe my worries.

_You need to calm down._

I can feel my shape wavering, the colours bleeding out of my surroundings.

I’m loosing myself.

The pounding in my head has a name.

_Zagreus Zagreus Zagreus—_

Charon lays a steadying hand on my shoulder.

_Calm down._

Silently, he lifts one long, bony finger, pointing at the rocky ceiling of Tartarus.

Pointing towards the Surface.

Despite his inherent gentleness, it hits me like a slap. I don’t even know what I’m feeling, anymore. Hope? Fear? Anger?

I’m such a mess.

But I’ve spent so long convincing myself that he could never do it. Zagreus couldn’t escape.

Every time I watch him fight, I’m impressed at how much he has grown in power. And yet, I refused to believe—

I wasn’t ready for this.

Zagreus has breached the Surface. And I can’t sense him because he’s gone too far away from me.

_He’s gone. Gone …_

He made it out the Temple of Styx, past Cerberus. _Outside._

The world is so vast, what if he’s already gone so far I never manage to find him—

Charon is looking at the golden ichor running down my arm, making worried growling noises. I’m digging into my own flesh again.

I have to stop beating myself up like this. I have to go to the Surface, and track him before—

— Thank you, I say, my voice like gravel, barely coming out.

— _Hhhrrrhhh …_

I don’t loose any more time. I Shift in a field of snow, just outside the Gate to Hades, by which Zagreus must have left. (I must find him.) The sun has just risen over the horizon, blinding me for a painful moment. From here, the world is screaming at me: The voices of the dying, begging for peace; the voices of the living, praying for me to stay away; vibrant spots of life everywhere; the glaring light reflecting off the snow and ice … How am I going to find him in this overly bright cacophony of life?

(I _must_ find him!)

I finally realize the glare is softened in places by bright splashes of crimson blood. _His_ blood.

_That’s right, calm down … Think._

_He’s not not dead, not yet, so he must—_

He has fought his own father, and won.

Impossible.

_Incredible …_

But I still can’t sense him. He can’t have gone very far already, can he? Not wounded like this.

_Think._

There are puddles in the shape of feet, where the snow has melted and begun to freeze over again, and more drops of blood. Leading towards the coast …

I follow.

Then I find it — not Zagreus, who I was looking for — but Mother’s veil. Strong enough to block even me. Obviously meant to protect something very important. Like the runaway Queen …

Mother always seemed fond of Queen Persephone.

I could slap myself.

I was so focussed on Zagreus’ light that I failed to notice the blot of darkness — my own mother’s signature — hiding in plain sight. Now it seems so obvious.

Now that I know what I’m looking for, Persephone’s garden is easy to find — a little spot of ever-life in a cold wasteland, all gently veiled by Nyx’s care. Somewhere, I know, Death will not be welcome.

But someone is already dying — I can feel it.

A bright flame sputtering.

I’m caught between a rush of relief and pain.

_Zagreus is here!_

Zagreus is dying …

He lays cradled in his mother’s arms, as he fights desperately (and vainly) against the drag of the Styx. His eyes are barely opened, and Persephone is talking softly to him, as she wipes at the blood leaking from his mouth with a tender hand. A desolate sight. One I know all too well.

Except, this time, I know the two players in this tragedy. And I think, finally, I understand grief.

I stay floating right on the edge of the garden, unsure what to do. I want to go to him, but—

But Lady Persephone is more goddess than mortal, and she looks up right at me.

— Thanatos, wasn’t it?

So, she can see me. I don’t know if she remembers me, somehow, or if she’s simply feeling the pall of death and decay surrounding me. I’m trying to reign in my power, but I’ve been feeling so much, lately …

— Have you come for him — for my son?

I shake my head slowly. I’m not the one killing him — that’s all she needs to know.

— The Styx will drag him home …

The river is already in him, red between his teeth, on his lips, in his ears … He’s struggling to breathe, blood filling up his lungs. It must be painful. It hurts to watch.

I find that Lady Persephone’s presence does not bother me, as it used to. It was her unborn baby — _Zagreus_ — that made me uneasy. It’s almost funny, how things have evolved.

— So it would seem, she says. He can’t survive here, on the Surface. He is bound to the Underworld.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to feel about this.

_He can’t leave … He can never leave …_

There is relief — and immediately after, guilt.

_He’s trapped … He can never leave …_

— Come closer, she beckons suddenly.

She’s smiling. Like I’m not something to be feared …

I know this welcoming smile. I see it often in her son.

Some things never change.

Her skin is a warm beige colour, her hair like wheat, rich with life. Nothing like us. If Zagreus always looked at odds with the rest of the House, here, he very much looks like someone who belongs under the Earth — forever stuck between two worlds.

Oh, so carefully, I make my way closer, until my shadow falls over them. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch, as if I were merely a cloud passing over the sun.

I have to remind myself that she _did_ live in the Underworld for a while.

I lean down on one knee and lower my head slightly, in a (very) late show of respect. The grass is withering under me — I can’t help it — but, thankfully, her beautiful garden stays unharmed. I can at least do _this_ properly.

My eyes seek Zagreus’ blood-streaked face of their own accord.

He’s starring blindly, his beautiful eyes now glassy. Can he feel my presence, like I feel his?

I lay my cold hand on his cheek. Tears run down his face, clear tracks through the blood. How terrible he must be feeling, to finally reach his goal, only to be dragged back against his will.

I swipe delicately with my thumb, the water from his tears cleaning away the blood, like reverse painting. His skin is so pale. Too cold.

— I’m sorry, I whisper. I can’t help you now.

— You care about him, don’t you?

I somehow managed to forget about Lady Persephone’s presence.

I try to hide my face further under my hood. I wish I had long hair again.

_My whole face must be gold by now._

— I’m his … friend.

Or, as much a friend as I’m able to be.

Yes, I care for him. Deeply. After all that’s happened, it seems pointless to deny it. But I never feel like I’m doing enough.

I’ve never seen him die so slowly before. It’s painful to watch.

The blood-water of the Styx is running out of his ears, his nose, the corners of his mouth, collecting into a puddle that will soon swallow him whole.

His eyes finally close, and he tries to mumble something, but at this point it’s unintelligible. Then his last breath leaves him in a sigh. His soul momentarily at rest. His thread still bless-fully intact.

There’s only one thing I can do now.

— I’ll carry him back home.

She closes her eyes a moment, apparently battling with her own emotions, then she smiles at me sadly.

— He’ll be back.

I can reassure her, because I know he’s just too stubborn to let himself be defeated like this.

— Thank you, Thanatos.

I lower my eyes again. I’m not used to hearing my full name said like this — with undeserved gratitude.

With care, I gather Zagreus’ limp body into my arms. I feel Persephone shiver when my skin accidentally brushes hers, but she does her best to hide it.

The Styx sinks back into the earth. He is in my care, now.

I stand up, cradling him against my chest. He feels so light and insubstantial — I have to remind myself that it’s only temporary. He’ll be fine.

He’ll be fine.

— Take care of him for me, will you? she says, fresh tears in her eyes.

— I will.

_I will._

In a flash, I Shift back to the House with my precious cargo, right in front of the Pool. Somewhere, down the corridor, I hear Hypnos jerk awake with an exclamation of surprise. I pay him no mind.

I begin descending the steps into the Styx and lay him gently in the waters, as Hypnos joins me, yawning grandly.

— What happened? You don’t usually carry him back, and there’s nothing on the list — not stomped by a Skull-Crusher or run-through by a Longspear or poisoned by a Satyr or split in half by a trap—

— I’ll fill the form myself if I have to, I say stiffly (trying not to take my frustration out on him). Don’t you have duties to attend to?

I have no patience for his overexcited prattle at the moment.

— I’m actually on break, right now.

— Of course you are.

— It’s the truth!

I sit on the steps, and watch Zag’s body sink underwater. Now to wait.

_He’ll be fine …_

— You _won’t_ guess who just came through the Pool, not long before! Come on, try to guess!

— _Hypnos,_ I groan. I’m not in the mood, right now—

— You’re never in the mood. Anyway, it was _Lord Hades_ himself! he adds in a too-loud whisper. Can you _believe_ it?

I can, actually. The Lord is glaring in our general direction from behind his desk. Hypnos’ high-pitched voice probably carries all the way to him.

I ignore both of them, all my attention focussed on the smooth, glass-like water in front of me. Waiting impatiently for a ripple. A bubble. Anything.

How long does it take, usually? It probably depends on the extent of his wounds …

_He’ll be fine … He’ll be fine—_

Bubbles on the water—

My heartbeat picking up excitedly— (How do mortals _stand_ this?)

Then, in a great rush of red, Zagreus jackknifes up in the now shallow Pool, coughing the liquid out, and I finally relax for the first time in what feels like way too long.

He shakes out his hair and wipes the blood off his face, muttering about the Fates and terrible fathers, apparently unaware of his audience.

— You’re back, I say, my voice resonating more than I meant for.

Zag looks slightly confused. I wonder if he can see the emotional turmoil on my face.

— Than—? What are you doing here?

Hypnos, waving his parchments happily, chooses this moment to quip:

— Oh, look at _that!_ Cause of Death: _Death!_ Isn’t that funny?

I glare sideway at him. _No, it’s not._

He leaves us, grumbling about his break being over and some people being jerks. I might feel bad, if I wasn’t so wrought up with seeing Zag alive and well, again.

One would think I’d’ve gotten used to it, by now.

One would think wrong.

‘… You were gone,’ is all I manage to say.

— Um, yeah? Didn’t we have this conversation before? he says, shaking himself like Cerberus.

The Styx is retreating from his body and returning to its Pool. His whole being is flushed with health, now, but I can still remember the feeling of his dead body in my arms, and my chest clenches.

— You were _nowhere—_ You were gone— I couldn’t—

I bite my lip. Hard.

_Don’t loose it now._

— I made it, Than! he exclaims. I made it to the Surface.

He’s smiling, but it’s not his usual, bright smile. It’s a sad smile.

— I finally found her! I found Mother. And I … I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t survive …

His eyes are filling with tears, but he’s still smiling up at me. Standing his ground in the face of adversity. No matter how many times he is defeated …

He meets me standing at the top of the stairs. What should I do? I want to take him in my arms so he can cry on my shoulder, like he used to. Like we used to be. But he’s not a kid anymore.

I want to hold him close, but I don’t dare.

Everything feels different now.

I feel like we’re standing on different sides of a ravine. He didn’t want to come back. He was forced to come back. He can’t leave here.

He can’t leave _me._

And I can’t help but be _glad_ about it.

I’m a terrible friend, aren’t I?

— You must be glad, he says bitterly (as if he read my thoughts). I’ll always get dragged back to this blasted House, whatever I do.

— That’s not—

I choke on the words, the cruelty of it.

_He’s trapped here, and I’m happy about it!_

Suddenly, I hate myself.

— I never wished for your sadness, Zagreus.

This, at least, is the truth.

I can only make myself look at his feet, glowing with health. He sighs.

— I know … You’ve been helping me, he adds, after a pause.

Zag is better at reading people than I ever was. I tug at my hood in embarrassment.

— I— This is obviously important for you, and I— We are friends … Right?

— Than—! Of course, we are! Whatever made you think we stopped being friends?

Warmth pools in my chest and my belly. My eyes catch on the burning leaves shedding from his laurels, leaping excitedly upwards before turning to ashes, like sparks off a bonfire.

In my nervousness, I start floating again, which Zag seems to take as a sign that I’m about to leave. His face softens, and suddenly, he grabs my bare hand to hold it between both of his — and it _burns!_

I jerk back by reflex, and his mouth gapes open, whatever he was about to say lost to my bad reaction.

I realize, too late, that this particular _burn_ did not equal _painful._

I don’t think I can ever feel more embarrassed with myself. I don’t want to stick around to find out.

— Than, I—

— I have— Get back— Havetogetbacktowork—

— Please, wait—

But I’m gone before he can try to reach out to me again.

I feel like I’m loosing myself.

✶

**It’s quite some time before I can show myself again.** But, eventually (always), I find my way back to him …

— We used to be closer, when we were younger, he says sheepishly. And I miss that.

He’s right, of course — even though I never really understood him — still, I miss him.

— There’s no going back in time, Zag, I said mournfully.

Things have changed. We’ve changed.

 _I’ve_ changed.

I want things that I shouldn’t. What would he think of me, if he knew?

My eyes fixate on his lips when he talks, and I want—

— I know … And I know you’re really busy. I just — I feel like I’ve pushed you away, and I’d like to bridge this gap between us. If you’ll let me.

I’m surprised. I always thought I was the one pushing him away, with my very nature, with my coldness — even when he ran away, I thought he’d had enough of me, like he’d had enough with the House. Go figure — all this time, he’s been taking everything on himself …

What a couple of fools we make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thoughts:** Than is a TERRIBLE brother. Jus’ sayin’.
> 
> So, I’ve been overusing ‘…’ & ‘—’ & italics to express Than’s confusion. I hope it doesn’t make this thing unreadable. ;;


End file.
